A Short story I wrote. Its a bizarro tale (one based on 3 segents from Fntasia. I'll let you guess which ones) that I plan to have accompany an anthology book that I'll send to Eraserhead press. Bizarro fiction is a newer genre of fiction that came out recently, meant on making weird and sleazy tales like a grindhouse movie. This tale is my first so it will be pretty tame. Simply sit back, enjoy, give any constructive critiscism, if you have any, and I'll get back to you later.
Azalea was crushing fresh pomegranate kernels in a large cauldron with a used broom, wads of dust and lint stewing with the pulp. She didn't know why her master wanted his pomegranate kernels crushed like this, she wasn't sure if she really wanted an answer to that. He could be wanting to drink the stuff for all she knew.
Azalea continued crushing fruit in the large pot, when suddenly the stove on the ground lit itself a kindle of white-flame. Azalea jumped back, only but a small bit of her black robe singed. The white flame on her robe blew out, leaving a small crease of glowing grey before cooling away.
"Azalea, back to mashing." She looked behind her and saw her master towering over her, the glow of the fire making him appear ever the more menacing.
"Uhh- yes Master Subere," As she got back on the stool and went back to mashing.
Subere was tall. Very tall. His whole form was obscured by a long billowing black robe, with a white eye motif that would blink at anyone that stared at it long enough. His hair was as bone white as his skin, with small black streaks in his hair. He wore sunglasses, whether he was indoors or not, to hid the grey glass marbles he had for eyes.
Subere was always a very strange sorcerer. Azalea seems to be the only person he ever interacts with really. At least, so she thinks. When he isn't barking quiet orders to her, he was always locked away in his room. Multiple padlocks without keys to them, which always seemed to lock and unlock themselves at random on the outside of the door. How he was able to enter and exit the room this way was never made clear, and whenever she asked, he would give a long, monotone speech which always boiled down to it's magic bitch!
She softly stirred the juice and pulp, curious as to why her master was down here so early. It was still day time, or at least it was still visible through the perpetual grey clouds that seemed to hover over The Tower.
Subere walked by, opening the cabinets carved into the rock-walls of the room. He emptied the entire cabinet without saying a word, somehow able to measure a tablespoon of salt, a cup of snake-flour, a dried snipe's tongue, two whole plaid-patterend gourds, a half-full bottle of dried human leather and dump it all into a large bowl. Azalea, day and night, still doesn't know how he manages to grab anything with his cape draped over his hands.
He turns to Azalea, his eyes as lifeless as ever, telling her to keep mashing in his expressionless voice. He hovers over to the cauldron with the bowl, clutched in his long fingernails, and thoughtlessly dumps both the contents and the bowl itself into the pulp-mixture. The effect was immediate as the mixture bubbled and festered, the bowl and the rest of the ingredients dissolving as if the juices became some sort of corrosive acid. The mixture turned a sickly yellow as Azalea covered her nose from the foul smell it was giving off.
"Oh god… smells like jabberwock piss!" Azalea gagged. Jabberwock piss, as some would tell you, is very foul smelling. It have often compared with wendigo piss, given the expired venom both creatures secreted along with the urine, but no one has yet decided which was worse.
Subere simply observed, un-revolted by the cruel odor or the ugly neon-color. The concoction boiled, releasing multiple geometric bubbles. Not circular bubbles. Geometric bubbles, in pyramids and cubes of different sizes, glowing tints of navy blue and porcelain green.
"Excellent" Subere commented. "The solution should boil for twenty-four hours. There is no telling what it may do until then, so if anything were to happen, notify me immediately." He turned to the door leading to his quarters.
"Hold on! If this thing boils for twenty-four hours, and I have to tell you when something happens, than does that means I have to watch it all night?"
"Exactly," he answered bluntly, as the door shut itself shut, all of the locks on the door locking themselves shut.
"Great." Azalea whined. "The least he could do was tell me what this is supposed to be." She pulled up a stool, propping her magenta-stained broom against the wall. She stared at the cauldron, the ugly urine-color straining her blue eyes. "Or maybe put a lid on it!"
The broom propped up against the wall began to shimmer, spreading its sticky bristles apart, making two makeshift appendages. It took a step with its left foot. Then its right. It kept up this rhythm until it was walking. The Broom walked over to the wary apprentice, who simply ignored the living object. The broom's handle turned to the pot, observing the contents like its master. The Broom, lacking any real five senses, was un-offended by its smell or appearance. The Broom's handle turned back to its owner and nudged her softly on the shoulder. She didn't respond. It nudged her again.
"What?" She asked annoyed.
The Broom answered her with a small dance, almost a twinkling of its toes (if it had any).
"No, I can't go flying with you. You know what he just said. I have to watch this." She looked back and strained, "All night."
The Broom leaned its handle against her at a futile attempt to appear cuddly.
"I said no. Last time I rode you without him knowing, he had me swabbing the basement, and you remember what happened down there, right?"
The broom bent its handle downward, implying a sad expression. That was when it noticed all the pinkish juice all over its bristles. It looked up at her.
"Sorry, Master insisted."
The broom, rather mad by the way it stomped its feet around, sat down and pouted, or at least the closest thing to pouting a broom could do.
"You're still upset that we haven't seen the mop after all this time haven't you?"
The Broom shook its handle yes.
"Yes, yes, I know you missed that mop, but you did know she was into other mops right?"
The Broom shot up in surprise.
"Hey, a girl just knows these sort of things." She shrugged.
Many months ago, Azalea snuck into the library just a few floors down in The Tower. The place was full of old literature no one ever heard of, in languages no one spoke anymore. That and multiple copies of The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Why? You don't want to know.
Anyway, she came across a spell-book hidden away in the very back of the very last shelf. Every page coated in a fresh layer of dust inside a blue-leather binding. Later on, when Subere ordered her to sweep the tower top to bottom, she used a spell on the page that was bookmarked to bring many of the brooms in the cleaner's cabinet to life so that they would sweep itself. They did their job, with all but one of them remaining animate once the spell wore off. So far, she has never swept again. Subere still doesn't know about it, thinking she only uses it for sweeping and flying lessons, and dreads the day when that will happen. The remaining broom soon started developing a mind of its own, complete with emotions and even a sense of humor, having become the only friend she has here at The Tower.
She sat for what must have been hours, frozen in place, her mind wandering off.
Subere was always like this. Always locked away in his own head. Azalea always wondered, Are all Sorcerer's like this?
She tried keeping herself busy to kill the boredom. She stared at her wiggling fingers. She organized the cabinets all along the walls. She even did a little sweeping with her bristled companion, the smearing of dried pomegranate juice mixing in with the black floorboards.
Looking through the cabinets, Azalea found a small folded bag. It was simply labeled 'Popcorn' in plain black letters. The cabinet was always filled to the brim with containers full of food, all labeled with what looked like black sharpie. She doesn't know where it all came from, but if she asked, she would probably get its magic bitch, or something to that effect.
The startling grey clouds were always so dark and foreboding. You couldn't even tell whether it was noon or nightfall. The tall black tower they resided in, simply known as The Tower, was surrounded by a vast, lifeless forest of trees, each and everyone of them carved from the volcanic rock that made up the soil and surrounding mountains.
Aside from the bilge potion stewing in the cauldron, Azalea was the most colorful thing in this world, with the pink highlights in her hair and the glimmering sapphires in her eyes. Everything else in the world lacked any passion or visible color. Just like her Master Subere.
Every time she tried to remember how she ended up in this strange world, it all ends up a blur. She could remember her life before; the memories of her parents and friends and the colors and emotions they brought. She could also remember what happened after she came here, like how the Sorcerer agreed to make her into a sorceress, and how she thought she could have some sort of effect on him like a beauty charming a beast from a fairy tale.
Apparently she was doing something wrong. He hasn't budged one bit from the lifeless scarecrow the he was. He probably hasn't even aged since then.
She pulled the small tab to the popcorn and it slowly started popping on its own. Each individual kernel exploding inside the bag as if it was in the microwave. As soon as the popping ceased, she opened the bag and grabbed a handful of popcorn. Each popped corn-kernel were muted in color, shades of grey where yellow should have been, pale grease from where melted butter should have been. The taste was equally lifeless.
Her living broom inched its way to her and poked and prodded at the bag in her hands, like a cat eager to drag out an old shirt from a laundry box.
"No, you can't have any. You wouldn't be able to eat it. You wouldn't want to." She said, popping another piece into her mouth. "The stuff tastes like dry-wall anyway."
The broom, taking the hint from its master, sat down on the floorboards the best way a broom could, folding its bristle legs like it was sitting cross-legged, and just watched the boiling pot along side her.
"You know, my mom on the weekends, when she had free time, she would build a little circle out of rocks in the backyard and make a little bonfire out of it like we were camping. We would sit there, tell ghost stories, and eat some s'mores, but the best part was when she put a slab over the fire and she would pop popcorn over it. She would get one of those metal disposable pans full of popcorn, and she held onto my hand as I gripped the handle as the pan would get bigger and bigger.
"Violet would scream with a smile, thinking that it was going to blow up. August would laugh and wanted to grab at it and shouted at us to make it bigger, or that he wanted to do it. We could have done anything on our family night, but all we ever wanted to do was to watch the popcorn and stare at the fire. Dad would never do that sort of thing with us. He was always away somewhere with that woman. Always making up excuses why he couldn't have us over. Sometimes it makes me wonder if he ever really loved us."
Azalea was gripping at her knees, the bag of popcorn on the ground, just watching the white fire dance, pretending she could see the pretty colors on the fire like those weekends she had. Her broom got up and nudged at her shoulder affectionately. She smiled mildly and wrapped her arm around the broom's neck.
She was standing on a mountain of paper. Paper of many shapes and sizes and ages. Newsprint and magazine, construction and manilla, ink and see-through. All in clippings like confetti in one giant pile on the ground. The sky was beautiful. Yellows and blue and reds painted like colored pencils with birthday cake clouds hovering by. She could even spot colors she didn't even know existed.
With a swift jump, Azalea's two feet slid down the mountain on an article of The Dallas Morning News and a paperback edition of Fish Fleshed by Carlton Mellick III. She slid through large sections of the paper, dodging maché trees and hills made from full libraries of books. The smell of wine and grapes graced her nose from the winds that blew through her hair and black robe as she maneuvered through the mountainside.
She turned left over a hill and found herself driving by the mountainside, awestruck with the valley befalling her eyes. Like a pointillism painting, vast rivers of pure wine flowed and tall trees filled with flowers and every fruit imaginable. People ran through the grass with festivity, the muscular men running with all four cloven-feet to greet the young, delicate fauns frolicking, their bare breasts bouncing as they hopped from one tree to the next, harvesting fresh grapes and olives in the spring.
A small family of centaurs looked at her with smiles. They looked like her mother, and her father, her little brother and little sister. They waved at her as she skated down the hillside. She couldn't help but smile and wave at at them.
Before she knew it, Azalea fell, having crashed into a cornucopia of sub-par japanese erotica, plummeting off the side of the mountain into the river of red wine.
All she could feel was the taste of fear, the touch of hot soup and the smell of chocolate, struggling to escape before nearly drowning in a river of red. Or was it… yellow?
She woke up and noticed her broom, nudging her in the shoulder much harder than it usually did. It moved around in a more frantic manner, Azalea only mildly confused with what it wanted.
"I told you that you were supposed to watch the pot tonight." She looked over to the left and saw her master standing at the doorway. "You're lucky I decided to come check on you before it was too late."
"Too late?" She asked, before she realized the intense sensation in her feet. It felt like her feet were on fire. Or was it frozen? Both really. She looked down and saw the revolting bile from the cauldron crawling up her leg like some sentient fungus. She kicked and screamed it off, slowly moving away like a hellish putty.
The gross slime shifted around like smoke, forming and reforming into multiple geometric and organic shapes. It appeared to slowly pour from the cauldron, popping and sizzling as drops fell into the white flame. The slime developed spots of every color of the rainbow, stripes in some brand new colors, florescent motions with colors she didn't know exist, all of which fading back in and out of the sickly yellow. In the cauldron of its birth was a small creature, sitting there in the gross slime-mold.
The creature's skin was magenta. Lidless white marbles for eyes. Two violet horns, two tiny violet demon wings, a small pointed pink tail, and a long dangling tentacle instead of a mouth, nose or face. Yellow muck slowly slid off his body. He didn't appear to be in the yellow muck, but rather, his body emitted it, like he and the mold were one.
Azalea… the creature growled
"What?" She freaked.
Azalea… Freedom, the creature growled again, pointed directly at the girl.
"Master Subere, what is that thing?" She asked.
"Something that I lost a long time ago." He answered. He got on his legs and positioned his hands directly at the creature, ready to strike. That was when he noticed Azalea's broom with moving on its own. He turned to her. "We'll talk about that later."
Subere… home… freedom… the creature moaned.
The slime crawling on the floor sound formed itself into six identical blue-stripe clad tentacles, lunging as if to spear Subere. The estranged sorcerer countered, white lightning crackling from his many rings, and with a quick swipe, Knocking the tentacles out of the way like they were made of rubber. The creature didn't react, merely staring at Azalea with its lifeless marble eyes. More and more tentacles formed from the formless mass of ooze, swiping and lunging at the sorcerer, Azalea watching in awe, while all this time the demon laid its eyes solely on her.
Azalea… home… freedom…
More tentacles laced with stripes and polka-dots crawled from the cauldron, ready to ensnare its prey. Realizing what it tried to do, ran and grabbed ahold of her broom, hoping to swat the tentacles away.
She managed to beat a few of the tentacles clear. This only seemed to entice the tentacles more, as more tentacles crawled from the cauldron and slowly slithered to her.
Subere was lost in his own fight, crackling electricity from his palm to ward away more tentacles and shooting white lightening from his index finger at the creature, who only seems mildly confused at what he was doing.
"Why won't you die?" He shouted passionlessly. The creature only answered with a head tilt and a mild splash in the ooze.
"Master Subere! Help!"
"Use your magic." He replied.
"What I've been teaching you!"
"Okay, uh, cutio no um, crutio that's not it either uh." Azalea panicked, tentacles slowly wrapping around and up her ankles. She could try the spell that would shoot lightning from her fingers, but her master tried it and it failed. She try to levitate something, but what good would tat do? All she ha was the other spell. The one that had her scrubbing toilets for a month.
"We went over that spell ten times. How can you not remember it?"
"Crutio, exano, exio… "
The tentacles curved up her robe, rubbing against her skinned undoing the soft cotton between her legs and chest. She blushed madly, struggling to remember.
Suddenly, the brush of her broom erupted into flames, creating a makeshift torch. She lunged the burning bristles at the tentacles crawling over her, the creature squealing as the tentacles burned and bubbled cube bubbles. She swatted the tentacles away, each of them recoiling in mild fear as she awkwardly tried to adjust her bra and panties back into place.
"Explosivo!" Pointing at the cauldron, Azalea's spell made the white-grey flames under the cauldron stronger, the fire burning at the tentacles tackling her and her master, forcing them to retreat.
Azalea… home… sick…
She made her way further at the cauldron, keeping each of the tentacles away and struggling to keep the broom aflame. The creature stared straight at her like a lifeless doll, the ivory marbles it had for eyes staring into her very soul.
She paid no mind to its words as she lunged the burning broom into the imp's face, the fire blackening the creature's left eye and cheek - if you could call them that. The imp creature squirming and lashing out from the wound, a high pitched squeal echoing from the mouth-less creature, sounding like a cross between a banshee and a she-male.
As more of the striped and stain-glass-colored tentacles receded back into the cauldron and the creature spread its wings and clutched at its wound with its tiny paw.
"Uh, oh." Subere said.
"Uh, oh? What do you mean uh, oh?"
"You hurt its feelings." He said bluntly.
Hurt its feeling? Was that humor? She thought.
The creature continued to act out, its purple wigs began to grow larger. They began to turn into a bright reddish color, as if the skin on the wings were being stretched beyond its limits. The air became thick. A dark mist formed out of thin air, circulating the room. It made up every color of the rainbow, with mostly the color purple and it smelled of tang. Pure essence of tang, without the flavor of sherbet or sour in the way. The colorful mist seemed to be drawn to the creature, caving into the creature's body, slowly at first, all of it massed onto the creature at once. The yellow muck climbed over the creature, the air shuttering turbulently.
Master Subere seemed to know what would happen and leaped over to Azalea, covering her, his back to the cauldron before the muck cocoon erupted in a rainbow-flamed explosion. The force of the explosion was strong enough to launch Azalea and Subere out through The Tower's window as it destroyed the roof.
When Azalea came too, she wondered if her eyes deceived her, or if she was dreaming again.
"The Tower's destroyed, and it's all my fault." She looked up and saw Subere standing next to her, the ground which he stood on still back and completely flat.
"That potion was meant to restore something I lost back when I was in your position. My master tasked me with the same duty, and he stripped me of it when I failed. I should have told you before I decided to make it."
"But what did you lose? What does this have to do with what's happening."
Subere merely pointed upward. Azalea looked up and saw the tower. What's left of it anyway.
Standing in The Tower's ruins stood the demon. Only he was much, much bigger. Taller than what the tower itself. His body was more humanoid, his tentacle for a face now in the shape of an actual head, but still horns were still on of his bald head. His whole body was the same yellow as the slime from the cauldron, his eyes glowed a fierce bright green that glowed against the monoliths that were his two black wings.
Whats the matter? Don't you remember me?
"Chernobyl…" Subere uttered in awe.
"Perhaps you should leave this world be and crawl back to whatever void you came from. You have no business here." Subere threatened.
"Yes, but I was intending…"
You intended to put me back in your head and sink into bed and pretend the world was right again. The creature laughed, his lips staying static.
"What is it you want?" He asked with caution.
What I want is what I am. What I am is what you can. Can be and shall be. Shall be mine, will she. He pointed over at Azalea with his giant claw.
"Her? Why? Aren't I the one you're after?"
The devil only laughed more.
Angry, was I and angry were they. Master sent me away. Like his master had he. So many before me. Banished by the other until you do her and her too he and so on, and so on…
"Why what are you going to do to me?" Azalea asked.
You'll find out when it happens. Oh, you'll see.
The yellow goliath waved its massive hand, a giant white flash popped from its palm like the flash from an old camera. The light overriding her sense of sight, flashing colors and whirling lights everywhere. It was as if she was trapped in a void of swirling reds and greens and yellows. At the end of this tunnel, stood a small girl, a small boy, and a woman, only a few inches taller than herself.
"Azalea!" The little girl squealed excitingly.
"Violet! August!" She noted in surprise. The little ones were none other than her endearing little siblings. She looked up to the older woman and felt tears in her eyes. "Mom…"
"Azalea, honey. Its good to see you." She said with a smile.
"I-I… I missed you."
"We miss you too honey."
"We asked when you would be home…" said August.
"…but momma wouldn't tell us." Violet continued.
"Violet cried all the time and it was getting annoying."
"Nuh uh. I didn't cry."
"Stop that you two. She's had a long trip and she's probably exhausted." Their mother scolded.
"Sorry momma." The children answered in unison. Azalea giggled at the antics of her family, hot tears pouring from her face at the same time.
Azalea felt like running, but she could only bring herself to walk, wanting to hug them again, to touch them again. It has been what must have been years when she woke up in the middle of the stone forest, no memory of how she ended up their as opposed to spending time with her teen friends over by their local La Madeleine.
She was scared. Frightened even. Wandering through a night of the plutonian hinterlands. Then she found the tower in the middle of this estranged world and the rest was history.
Images of her life flashed through the vortex. Bright bleeding watercolors over shadows of people she may or may not have met. Sleepless clouds and bold, sour smells race through her body like water. Frightening doves into cuddly spiders. Madness digesting everywhere, Azalea running in slow motion towards her family, her robe blowing against the current with every fiber bobbing and weaving. Her family simply waved at her with a hearty goodbye, a giant golden claw emerged from above them.
Azalea felt a sharp tug at her arm, and was literally pulled back to reality. She found herself gripping onto the handle of what was revealed to be her magic broom. It flew many yards into the air, the poor girl holding on for dear life. She forced an eye lid open and found herself back in the colorful ruins of the tower. Subere was flying about on his wispy cloak, jutting white infernos from his hands at the beast, the goliath's left arm severed from its elbow, held only by strips of its skin unraveling like bandages, with drops of a bile of every color of the rainbow dripping from the raw flesh from the nearly-severed arm.
Fly, fly away. Away you go and away I play.
The nearly severed arm dislodged its gigantic talons from the ground and floated upwards towards her like a balloon on a string. The broom Azalea rode flew away on its own at high speeds, its half-way burned bristles vibrating, hoping to get away from the demon arm. Azalea was screaming from adrenaline, closing her eyes to keep the wind away.
The giant dislodged arm chased her through the air, countering the broom's speed with its unbelievable size. Like a bear swatting at a gnat. The massive fingers closed in on each other, nabbing a few of the broom's blackened bristles in its fist. Before the demon could crush the two, a black mass of cloth stabbed onto the fist like a dart, slamming the giant fist to the ground with a loud crash.
It was Subere, the eye patterns on his cloak twitching every which way. He stomped the hand beneath him and gave her a dull look.
"When this is over, you'll be scrubbing chamber-pots for a month."
"What?" Great. Just great.
Suddenly, the detached hand bubbled and pulsated, melting into a creamy-rainbowish puss. Subere struggled as his feet and cloak were slowly sinking into the goo.
Azalea scrambled, panicking as she was running out of ideas. She grabbed the poor animated broom and began to swat at the tentacles red and green-striped tentacles crawling from the bilge devouring her master, the broom squirming in her hands in annoyance. The tentacles just grew and grew, branching off of each other, making more. Azalea felt one crawl up her leg and squealed in fright. She kicked it off and ran the other way, mounting her broomstick and flew off like an albatross. The tentacles grew to titanic lengths, chasing after the flying little with on her broomstick. A tentacle covered with sherbert polka-dots snagged the end bristles, melting into each fiber like gum oozing through a cellphone.
The broom's flight became slower and less stable, the poor thing struggling to free itself.
"Oh no, oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no!" Azalea tried to kick off the repulsive appendage but the goop was too far melted through the broom's loins to remove. Suprising really, given that most of the bristles were burnt o—
"That's it!" Azalea inhaled a large pocket of air, and shouted "Explosivo!"
The back of the broom erupted with a boom! A small but powerful explosion engulfed the back of the broom, sending bits and pieces of slime pieces and burnt wood every which way in a ball of smoke and fire. The broom let out a few puffs of smoke from the rear before dropping down to the ground with Azalea its unwilling passenger.
Azalea landed on her right shoulder. She heard a small pop and she screamed in agony. She forced herself up, gripping at her dislocated arm by force, looking down at her fallen comrade. It was just a stick now. A badly burned stick, smoking at the blackened pike where the bristles used to be. She kneeled down, wincing slightly as her dislocated arm was nudged by her knee, and ran her hand over the limp remains of her friend.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, tears dropping onto the blackened wood.
Gimme gimme never gets, sorry gets you even less, The demon mocked in a sing-song voice in the melody of 'Ring-Around the Rosy'.
"You shut the fuck up!" She screamed.
All she could do was shout as the demon's laughter grew louder. More and more tentacles with stars and stripes all over them surrounded her on the ground like carnivouros leeches. She felt more goop slithering under her toes through the purple grass beneath her bare feet. She jumped in shock of the burning-cold. She gave a quick glance at her shoulder and, holding her breath, painfully forced it back into place.
"Urr, fuck! Explosivo!" She yelped, the grass where her foot was erupting like a land-mine, flinging gross yellow puss everywhere. What was left of the tentacle reformed immediately and crawled away, leaving all other others to deal with the poor girl. She shook her wrist furiously, trying to get feeling back into her arm.
"Explosivo!" she cried again and again, pointing and blowing up any tentacle that got close. Craters were being left everywhere, the soil a cookie-crumb black from the fiery explosions more and more the louder she shouted.
"It's not enough!" The tentacles just kept coming and coming after her. Her master struggling through a giant pool of motley-colored tentacle-goop like a drowning tiger, her only escape dead as dry-wood (which it was) and a tentacle best out of reach for the one spell that seemed to work.
"If only I could get closer..."
Over now, little sow. The demon gloated.
She looked down at what was left of her friend and inspiration struck her!
"What?!" He yelled back before a tentacle forced itself nto his face.
"I'll need support for this next spell!"
"Support! I need sorcery support!" The first time Azalea ever heard of sorcery support, she simply laughed at how ridiculous the name was. This was early on in her apprenticeship of course. Sorcery Support was when the Master Sorcerer would lend a small piece of his own power into his or her apprentice. Kind of like training wheels, only it could blow things up.
She grabbed the remains of her wooden comrade and held it like a javelin, ready to throw. The drowning Sorcerer a few yards away dug his long black fingernails into the yellow dirt, dragging just enough of his body out of the putty and pointed toward her with his index finger, his black fingernail glowing a bright shade of silver. Azalea began to glow the same bright silver, the blackened tip of the wood glowing small burning orange and red through the cracks as she concentrated energy into the stick, vibrating the molecules rapidly.
The rainbow-striped tentacles began to crawl over her legs, wrapping around her ankles and to her knees through her burnt robe. The blob of tentacle-goo swallowing Subere, too high in focus to struggle.
She took a deep breath, and without hesitation, she speared the broom handle at the demon, the sharp end of the stick landing squarely through the chest. The creature only laughed, his yellow flesh absorbing the stick.
Try again, friend. Your time is at its end.
"Shut the fuck up! Explosivo!"
The stick in the creature's chest flashed like the sun before it exploded, the echo of the monster's last roar slowly fading as his entire body – wings, arms, chest and head – became acid rain of rainbow colors and the smell of yellow was everywhere. The tentacles smothering her body melted away. The large blob as well, her master crawling from the puddle, completely covered in mustard-colored goo. The colorful rain rained all over Azalea, getting in her hair, her face, her clothes, and yet she felt refreshed, like she was cured of a cabin fever she thought would never end. The chaotic colored fortress around them dissolved as the rain came down, like watercolors washing away. The sky became grey and dark again, the bright colors sliding off.
Subere composed himself, telekinetically removing the yellowish-goo covering him. He walked over to Azalea, a mess on the outside but finally refreshed.
"You were supposed to watch over the pot and warn me if anything was going to happen." Subere scolded, sounding annoyed.
"It's going to take a lot of effort to repair The Tower to its former state, and it will take me forever to find another snipe's tongue. Hell, we'll be lucky enough just to find a snipe. Those things aren't easy to find! You young lady are in so much trouble!" He shouted further.
"And that broom of yours was moving on its own. I could tell that it was expressing emotion from the way it was moving. How long have you been keeping this from me?"
He raised his voice. He never raises his voice!
"Master, what was that thing?"
"What thing?! That giant thing attacking us, that Chernobyl guy we just killed!"
He turned somber.
"My master had to punish me somehow for my negligence, so he had that magically removed from me. I made that elixir hoping to see if I could have it back, but it transformed before I could use it."
Azalea could feel his sincerity. Sincere. The last word I'd thought I would describe him as.
"Master… what did he take from you?"
He gave her a passing glance, and shook his head violently.
"Never mind, come on. Get another broom. You've got sweeping to do." As he walked off. As he turned his back to her, she was amazed. Two of the many eye patterns on his cloak had color on them. One was a bright green, the other an almond-brown. Both full of fine details and life.
Oh, I get it now.
"Oh yeah, and when your done, we'll have to have a little talk about that broom you had."
Again, tell me what you think and you'll see my next story later.